I'm practically a nana. Or maybe I'm more of a chicken midwife. I have no idea how chickens have been doing it for all these years, but I have single-handedly hatched some eggs - with the help of two hens and my husband who bought the fertile eggs off Trademe. But it feels like I did all the work. I'm the one who went out there and poked the hens every day and I'm the one who picked them up each day so that I could hold all the eggs in my eager hands. See? How did they ever do it before I was around to help?
|Peekaboo! (or should that be "Peck-aboo?)|
I'd heard about God being like a mother hen sheltering her chicks under her wing and had always assumed that she just kinda stretched it out like an umbrella. But I've been watching this modern family closely ("modern" because there are two mums and no dad) and have noticed that those chickees climb right up inside all that plumage. I even thought I'd lost them a few times until I picked up Pepsi, the more maternal of the two birds, and all these babies just fell out of her feathers with a disgruntled peep. I just hope that they're not all little itty bitty roosters because we're not allowed to keep roosters in suburbia and we'd have to find an alternative home for them if they are - and we all know what that means! About 180 degrees celsius in a roasting dish should do it...*ulp!*
|This one hatched out of one of the eating eggs. I shall name it "Omelette"|
(come to think of it, "Omelette and his/her sibling have extra toes so I might call them Tennessee and Marilyn)
So that's what it means to shelter under God's wings. It's not just sitting around waiting for a supernatural brollie to pop up over our heads, it's about nestling in close - hiding ourselves in Him. I like it!
|Where can I get a pattern for this chicken jersey?|